


Maps

by TaleWorthTelling



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Edging, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7024576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleWorthTelling/pseuds/TaleWorthTelling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve likes a challenge. Bucky likes Steve. They'd both really, really like to get off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maps

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/21013.html?thread=53007381#t53007381) prompt: _As much as Bucky likes the noises Steve makes when he comes, he likes the noises Steve makes when he's this close to coming and then Bucky backs off from it even more. He also really enjoys when Steve starts begging Bucky to please, please just let him come, please, please._  
>  Since writing porn is a great way to cure a writing slump, how could I pass it up?

Steve Rogers holds a position well. 

It's a shame that Bucky doesn't have an artistic bone in his body, actually, because, damn, Steve sure is a sight right now. Steve had tried, way back when, to show him how to sketch just the bare bones of a scene. Even just the shape of a leg here, a mouth there, before he could put it all together. None of it really took, but looking at the picture of Steve's ass alone is inspiring enough to make him reconsider trying again. It's not like he couldn't use a relaxing hobby.

Steve lets slip a groan, deep and strained, before he can stuff it back down and replace it with a hard, focused breath through his nose. It shakes Bucky out of his revery, reminding him that relaxing is definitely not the right word for this.

He could always draw fruit, he supposes. But that does lack the appeal of a naked Steve. 

Bucky draws his fingertips up Steve's back, just barely startling him from behind, and that alone tells him how far gone Steve is from how long they've been at this; Steve's situational awareness is well-honed. It takes a lot of work to get him to this place, but Bucky can't help but be flattered and warm all over, knowing that Steve could never reach it at all, never drop his guard even this much, if he didn't trust Bucky the way he does. 

Shivers work their way up his spine, radiating out from that spot low on his back, between the crest of his hips. The tension of anticipation and teasing has made him rigid, building and waiting and building again only to wait once more. 

Bucky's got patience. It's always surprised people, although he's not sure why. His job has always depended on that. And watching Steve work has always fascinated him, every thought that flashes across his face and every one that he hides and keeps to himself but that Bucky can sense, anyway. He can't always read Steve, but in bed he can. Like this, he's a road map Bucky couldn't possibly turn wrong on, uncomplicated and laid bare. 

He smiles. In lieu of words, the quickest way to Steve's heart has always been through his pants. It's where they communicate best. It's where they always have. 

The fingers of his bionic hand, thicker and warmer and harder than the flesh one, are carefully cradling Steve's balls, stimulated and drawn-tight. Every roll and ripple of those slippery fingers is barely a light tap, barely a pulse. Practically no more than a breeze. He's careful with this hand, more careful than he used to be, always conscious of what he can do with it, what has been done with it, but the feedback from Steve is a constant stream and he never has to worry that Steve is holding something back from him. Steve is stoic so much of the time, so bottled up. But Bucky wants to hear him.

He keeps up the motion with his balls, almost feather-light, but he's still preoccupied with Steve's ass. And how can he not be? Steve's bent all the way over, on knees and forearms, shoulders low to the ground to push his tailbone to the sky. His head should be hung between his shoulders, easier on his neck, but he stares straight ahead like the stubborn son of a bitch that he is. And Bucky can just imagine how it plays out in his mind, on some level, that if Bucky gets to play his body like a violin and pluck the moans and pleading from his rasping throat then he's going to do it with his head up, his fists clenched together like he's been tied. But he hasn't. It's just willpower keeping him in place. Keeping him there for the last hour.

Keeping him from shifting one damn inch no matter how many times Bucky has brought him close, so close, and then turned away. First the massage, to loosen the muscles so determined to hold fast, that conveniently ended between his cheeks. A nice, long while just rubbing above and below and around, until finally his thumb just dipped right in, right when Steve's dick was just starting to pearl at the tip.

And then he stopped. Pulled out a dirty novel and pulled up a chair and put his feet on Steve's back to read it out loud, licking his finger to turn the pages. Steve's frustrated huff was music to his ears.

When Steve started to squirm, getting worked up just on the filth alone, Bucky set the book down and got back to work. He reached between Steve's legs and stroked vigorously, without warning, tugging harshly on his dick the way he liked, harder than Bucky enjoyed for himself, this time bringing him there fast and mercilessly.

And then just as mercilessly stopping, grabbing Steve's hip nails-first to ground him, sucking an apologetic kiss into the flushed and sweaty skin of his neck. He kissed until the pulse jumping hard against his lips slowed. 

And then he'd gone back to his beautiful ass, massaging with both hands, getting deep into the muscles, spreading lube well past where it strictly needed to be just because he liked the look of it, and likes looking at it now where it's still wet. That's when he'd put in the prostate stimulator. All it has to do is sit there and look pretty, a strangely elegant complement between the stainless steel of the toy and the steel of Steve's will. It's appropriate. It's beautiful, the protruding end just visible between his well-groped and glistening cheeks. But it's efficient, reducing Steve to a fidgeting, writhing mess while Bucky pinches his nipples, rubs his pecs, sucks below his jaw. Tickles the insides of his thighs, brushing his heavy hanging dick with the back of his knuckles. Every sensation he wrests from Steve is multiplied with that thing up his ass, and the best part is that Steve couldn't hide it if he tried, just has to ride it out through every clench and shift, every time it pushes hard at those nerves and doesn't let up.

And that's where they are, after all this time, with Steve's body flushed and wanting, light catching the sweat rolling down his arched back and the slick metal toy, toes curling and uncurling. 

Steve's so far gone, so close, that his muscles are almost involuntarily clenching and releasing, pulling the toy in deeper and harder again and again. They don't really have any rules here, except that Steve can't come just yet, but he's not sure Steve even knows he's doing it, caught up in the feeling of it all.

"You know," he says, voice so low it's a wonder it doesn't rumble down through his fingertips, into Steve's skin, "you're just making it harder on yourself when you do that."

"Do what?" Steve grits out. He's almost panting, a feat barely accomplished by fighting robot armies and throwing motorcycles. Bucky's pretty proud of himself, enjoying the heat radiating from Steve, enjoying the small keening noises just beginning to push themselves up through the back of his throat. 

Bucky doesn't answer. He's deciding on his next move, really. He can keep pushing Steve like this for at least a little while longer, but they haven't quite decided on whether ruining the orgasms outright is on the table. Bucky's not sure he wants to, not sure Steve does either. It's not quite the same. 

He still hasn't decided on whether he'll answer when Steve finally shudders and says it, the thing that will always, always stop Bucky in his tracks and make him do whatever Steve needs: "Buck ... c'mon ... _please_."

Bucky walks around him, slow and sure steps, until he's looking down at Steve's damp hair. He kisses the crown of his head before he sinks down, straddling Steve's outstretched arms.

Steve's eyes close, lips parting on a grateful sigh, and he takes Bucky right into his mouth. Normally Bucky is a considerate partner, never much into guiding this way and that, but in this case he takes pity and slides his fingers through Steve's hair and pulls his head forward just a bit, then back, and gets a nice rhythm going, takes the effort out of it so Steve can just get lost in the motion of it. His fingers scrape gently against the pressure points on the back of Steve's skull, alternating light scratches with firm circles, anything to take Steve's mind off of being lit up from the inside. Like that's even possible with every push of Bucky's hips rocking Steve's body back and forth. 

Steve suddenly pulls his head away, Bucky's dick slipping from his warm mouth into the cool air of the room, and the sudden wave of frustration, bright and sharp, there and gone in an instant, must be nothing compared to whatever's got Steve resting his forehead into the juncture of Bucky's thigh. He waits for a moment, letting Bucky pet the back of his neck, before he consciously relaxes, nuzzles Bucky's hip, and sucks just the head of his dick back into his mouth. 

Bucky shuts his eyes hard against the pressure, unrelenting and focused. Steve's good at comebacks.This feels like one.

Steve's taking more and more of the show, tongue pressing up into the underside, swiping the head, flicking out when he pulls off only to go right back down and massage with his lips, looking up at Bucky like he doesn't know what he looks like.

He knows. But you know what Bucky knows?

He leans over Steve's back, trying as much as he can to avoid shoving his dick too deep while he moves, and presses the toy hard right where he knows Steve needs it, pushing in pulses just the way Steve likes. He reaches farther, his dick falling from Steve's lips yet again to accommodate, and cups Steve's balls, pushing them right up against his body.

"God, Buck, please," Steve croaks. "Just do it. I can't. I need it. Can I? Please? Will you?"

Bucky looks at the clock, just out of curiosity. Impressive. Bucky's patient, but when it comes to simple pleasures, he likes instant gratification. He shuffles back until he's leaning down, breathing Steve's air, so close the sex on his breath is impossible to miss. He kisses him deep, rubbing his temples with both hands. Then he pries his fists apart and guides him down, first onto his side, then rolling him over onto his back. All it takes is his knee pressing into the base of the toy, his fingers around Steve's heavy, sticky dick, and his tongue laving Steve's balls, and that's it. All of this for one moment of white-hot pleasure that arches Steve's back up off the floor, has strangled breaths bursting from behind his clenched teeth. 

Steve takes a few deep breaths before he starts to sit up, reaching down to gingerly slide the toy out and then reaching out for Bucky. "You?"

Bucky grins, a little sheepish, mostly pleased. He shifts his stance a little wider so Steve can see his other hand wrapped loosely around his softening, wet dick. "You know I'm getting impatient in my old age."

Steve laughs, dragging him up for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> The alternate title to this fic was Steve's Ass.


End file.
